


Christmas OTP Challenge

by cypress_tree



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Advent Calendar, Christmas, Drabble Collection, M/M, Post Reichenbach, Winter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-02
Updated: 2013-01-21
Packaged: 2017-11-20 01:50:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 25
Words: 11,109
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/579976
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cypress_tree/pseuds/cypress_tree
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of 25 drabbles, one per day, leading up to Christmas.  A secular advent calendar, I suppose.  Each one stands alone.  They're sort of connected, but aren't meant to be chronological.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Getting Out Decorations

**Author's Note:**

> Day one: Getting out decorations
> 
> Prompts are from gaytectives' [Christmas OTP Challenge](http://gaytectives.tumblr.com/post/36262930585/christmas-otp-challenge) on tumblr.

For the longest time, there was only one Christmas decoration in 221b, and that was the string of 100 white fairy lights that John picked up at Tesco. 

Sherlock liked them because when hung across the mantle, they drew attention to his skull. John liked them because when Sherlock got bored, he would arrange them into a nest and place the skull in the middle. It was a fire hazard, and John lectured him about it, but the way the light glowed on Sherlock’s skin sometimes made John catch his breath.

\---

The first Christmas after Sherlock's "death," John found the fairy lights shoved in the closet of his bedsit. He was sifting through clutter on a high shelf when they slid from the top of an old shoebox and fell in a tangle over his head.

They laid on the kitchen counter for three weeks. On Christmas Eve, John sat alone by the window and pulled out the bulbs, one by one.

\---

The first Christmas after Sherlock's return, John found the lights again, tucked away in their box, still without bulbs. Sherlock asked about them, but John didn't answer, just shrugged and looked away and changed the subject. When John came home from work that night, he found that Sherlock had bought enough bulbs to replace the entire set. 

Later that night, they had takeaway on the sofa in front of the telly. They had become used to sitting very close, and this time their knees accidentally brushed. This led to their fingers not-so-accidentally brushing, which led to eye contact, and "never leave me again" and a joining of hands and a pressing of foreheads and finally, a kiss. 

John was glad that he kept the lights. They looked just as nice against Sherlock’s skin as he remembered.


	2. Making Christmas Cards

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day two: making Christmas cards
> 
> Prompts are from gaytectives' [Christmas OTP Challenge](http://gaytectives.tumblr.com/post/36262930585/christmas-otp-challenge) on tumblr.

Most years, John sent out just one Christmas card, to Harry. That was, until the year that Mrs. Hudson was invited to spend an extended holiday in France with a “very dear friend” of hers. She accepted, and told Sherlock and John that she would be away for the whole month of December.

John suggested sending her a Christmas card. They had the address of the house where she was staying, and John thought that Mrs. Hudson would appreciate the gesture. He came home from work one day having bought a Christmas card with a ridiculous cartoon reindeer on the front. Sherlock violently disapproved and sent John back to the store. Three trips to W. H. Smith and one minor row later, John arrived at the flat with five different cards, fanned them out on the coffee table, and told Sherlock to pick his favourite one.

The card Sherlock ended up choosing was dark blue with silver lettering. He was pleased because he would be able to use the silver ink that he bought for the 19th-century calligraphy set that Mycroft gave him for his birthday years ago. (He had pretended not to be excited over it, but even John wasn’t fooled.)

Sherlock signed his name with a flourish and handed the pen to John, who somehow managed to smudge his own. He was unwilling to go back to the store, so he let it dry, pressed it closed, and sealed the envelope.

“You know,” said John. ”This is the first Christmas card we’ve sent as a couple.” Sherlock looked up from where he had been meticulously cleaning the nib of his pen. ”It tends to be a couple-type thing to do,” John continued. ”Sending cards together, buying joint gifts, going to parties as a unit.”

Sherlock didn’t say anything, and John forgot about it until the next year, when, although Mrs. Hudson was spending Christmas at Baker Street, Sherlock insisted that they send her a card anyway.


	3. Sitting in Front of the Fireplace with Hot Tea

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day three: sitting/snuggling in front of the fireplace with hot cocoa/tea
> 
> Prompts are from gaytectives' [Christmas OTP Challenge](http://gaytectives.tumblr.com/post/36262930585/christmas-otp-challenge) on tumblr.

John woke up with a start when he felt Sherlock grip his wrist like a vice. He turned towards him to find that Sherlock was asleep—his brow furrowed, his fingers twitching against John’s skin.

John turned on the light and put a hand on Sherlock's shoulder, shaking him gently back and forth. He came awake with a tiny jump and sat upright, looking around the room as if expecting to find an enemy.

"Hey, hey, it's okay," John soothed. "It was just a nightmare." At first, Sherlock’s eyes were wide and empty, but then he recognized John, and looked away.

He had been back in London for some time, but hadn't forgotten his three years away. He looked down at his hands, and John knew that in Sherlock's mind, they were red. Sherlock wouldn't be going back to sleep.

"Let's go into the sitting room," John said. "I'll make us some tea."

John put on the kettle and built a fire while Sherlock sat in his chair, his legs pulled up in front of him. When the fire had warmed the room, John squeezed into the chair next to Sherlock, and pulled a blanket around them. They began sipping at hot mugs of tea. Sherlock kept looking down at his hands.

After a moment, he said softly "I had never killed anyone before." 

John looked at him, but Sherlock directed his gaze toward the fire. John kissed his shoulder wordlessly.

When John's mug was empty, he set it on the table next to him. They sat together for an hour without speaking. Around three o'clock in the morning, it became difficult for John to stay awake. He rested his head on Sherlock’s shoulder and closed his eyes.

John thought that he felt Sherlock's lips against the crown of his head, but he wasn’t sure if it was a dream or not. When he woke up the next morning, Sherlock was still awake next to him. Their hands were linked together, and the fire had died off on its own.


	4. Shopping for Gifts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day four: shopping for and/or wrapping gifts
> 
> Prompts are from gaytectives' [Christmas OTP Challenge](http://gaytectives.tumblr.com/post/36262930585/christmas-otp-challenge) on tumblr.

John wasn’t sure why he thought Christmas shopping with Sherlock would be a good idea. The only reason he could think of was that he wasn't a huge fan of shopping himself, so maybe if Sherlock were with him, it would be a little more bearable.

It was at first. John dragged Sherlock into an overpriced boutique to find a silk scarf for Mrs. Hudson, but Sherlock was more interested in using the scarves to tie John's wrists together with a variety of intricate knots, and it wasn't long before they were politely asked to leave the store.

In the next store, they were looking at scarves again, when Sherlock attempted to correct his previous behaviour.

"I don't want you to get the wrong idea, John. I was rather hoping you would be the one tying me up." John bit his lip and Sherlock pulled him into a corner. John tried his best to memorise the knots that Sherlock showed him, but they didn't have very long before someone saw them. They were asked to leave again.

In the third store they entered, they managed to find a scarf for Mrs. Hudson, a pair of gloves for Lestrade, and a cardigan for Molly. Sherlock turned toward Baker Street when they walked out the door, thinking that they had completed their shopping. He was wrong.

"I was thinking we could split up and shop for each other," said John. "Just meet back here in...an hour?" Sherlock frowned, but nodded.

For the second time that day, John wasn't sure what he had been thinking. When they re-grouped, Sherlock was empty-handed. He took one look at the unmarked, opaque paper bag that John was carrying, and said,

"Ah, a leather journal for case notes. Thoughtful. Probably has my initials stamped on the cover. I'm thinking black? But you pondered the brown for quite a while."

John stared at Sherlock, then turned and walked toward the bookstore to return the journal. He got all the way to the end of the queue at the return counter, when Sherlock came up behind him and tried to make him change his mind.

"John, don’t be melodramatic. Does it really matter if I know what it is? I would have guessed anyway." John kept his eyes focused in front of him and they moved one spot ahead in queue. "John, this is ridiculous. The element of surprise is vastly overrated. Weren’t you the one who told me it’s the thought that counts?" They moved ahead one more spot, and Sherlock tried his hand at pleading. "John, please get out of the queue. It’s a brilliant gift. You’re wonderful, you’re fantastic. I couldn’t have thought of anything better myself. Now please let’s leave."

When the woman ahead of him left the counter, John went ahead and placed his bag on top, but held onto it tightly. The girl behind the till smiled at him politely. 

"How can I help you?"

Sherlock sulked. John gave a tight grin. "I'd just like to state for the record that my boyfriend here is an utter twat with absolutely no knowledge of social niceties."

"You knew that about me, though," Sherlock muttered. The girl gave them a blank stare, her smile wavering.

"And," continued John. "If he deduces any more of his own bloody Christmas presents, he isn't getting a damn one come the 25th."

There was half a moment of awkward silence, then Sherlock took John's hand tightly and pulled him away from the counter.

"Point taken," he said.


	5. Buying the Christmas Tree

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day five: buying the Christmas tree
> 
> Prompts are from gaytectives' [Christmas OTP Challenge](http://gaytectives.tumblr.com/post/36262930585/christmas-otp-challenge) on tumblr.

They weren’t planning on getting a tree. Keeping a full-sized fir tree inside a small London flat didn’t seem like an easy thing to do, and John had no strong emotional attachment to the tradition, so he was willing to let it go. It was actually Sherlock who changed his mind.

They were walking towards Baker Street when Sherlock slowed down to look at a window display. The display was advertising high-end clothing for children. It featured child-sized mannequins modelling expensive wool coats, positioned around a large, brightly-decorated Christmas tree. John noticed the way Sherlock’s attention was drawn to the display, and he stopped to stand by the window.

“It’s nice, isn’t it?” he asked, vaguely, trying to prod Sherlock into sharing whatever was on his mind.

Sherlock stood next to John and looked up at the tree. The store was closed, so the tree glittered brightly against the dark indoor of the shop.

“Did you have a Christmas tree growing up?” John asked.

Sherlock nodded. “The Christmas tree was a bit of a...production in my family.”

“A production?”

Sherlock gave a faint grin. “It wasn’t an average tree.”

“Covered in body parts? Lit with radioactive chemicals?”

Sherlock smirked. “Very funny. No, it was...quite large. About ten feet tall, every year. Only the library had a ceiling high enough to accommodate it. And Mummy always bought expensive ornaments made of glass or crystal. Some imported, some hand-painted. The tree had a different colour scheme each year, so we always had boxes upon boxes of ornaments.”

“Sounds like something in a magazine.”

“It looked...good.”

Sherlock had a nostalgic look in his eyes at the memory, and John didn’t miss it.

“Must have been quite a sight to grow up with.”

“It was nice to look at, but it wasn’t very child-friendly. Mycroft and I were blamed for breaking an ornament one year. It was a little glass bell. Mummy woke up one morning to find it smashed on the ground. She blamed us until I proved beyond a doubt that it was actually the cat.”

John smiled. “How old were you?”

“Five. But it was hardly a challenge. Mycroft and I were having music lessons at the time, and the cat was limping because it had a shard of glass in its paw.” Sherlock blinked a few times, clearing his mind of the memory. “Anyway. That’s what I think of whenever I see a Christmas tree.”

“Your first case?”

“Sort of. Mostly just proving to Mummy that she was wrong and I was right.”

John rolled his eyes, but linked Sherlock’s arm in his own as they continued walking.

\---

Two days later, John was walking home from the bus stop when he saw miniature potted Christmas trees on a sales display outside a florist. He brought one home and cleared a space for it on the table in the sitting room. Sherlock noticed it as soon as he walked through the door.

“What is this?” he asked, prodding the branches with one finger.

“A Christmas tree,” said John.

Sherlock frowned. “Obviously. But why is it in our flat?”

“Because it’s ours. _Obviously_.”

Sherlock gave John a look that was hard to decipher. It was halfway between “thank you” and “you’re an idiot.” He gave the tree one last glance before taking off his coat and going to the kitchen to check on an experiment.

\---

Sherlock didn’t mention the tree for the rest of the night, but John had learned long ago how to read his body language. Sherlock didn’t often say thank you when he was feeling grateful, but he would show his gratitude by being more tactile than usual. John didn’t need to hear the words to know they were there. Sherlock touched him on the arm as they passed in the hallway. They brushed fingers when Sherlock passed him a pencil. As John was cutting an onion for dinner, Sherlock came up behind him and ran a hand up and down John’s back while talking about what he had done that day at the morgue. John felt the gratitude in the slow movements of Sherlock’s fingers.


	6. Decorating the Christmas Tree

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day six: Decorating the Christmas tree
> 
> Prompts are from gaytectives' [Christmas OTP Challenge](http://gaytectives.tumblr.com/post/36262930585/christmas-otp-challenge) on tumblr.

For the longest time, the only ornament that decorated the Christmas tree was a garland of cat intestine. When John inquired about it, Sherlock claimed he was letting it dry out. It stayed on the tree for about a week, until Mrs. Hudson saw it, shrieked, and used a rubber glove to remove it while Sherlock wasn’t home.

Two days later, Sherlock wandered into the sitting room to find a 6x4’’ picture nestled among the branches of the tree. It was one of very few pictures of Sherlock and John together. John was giving the camera a polite but tired-looking smile, and Sherlock was looking down at John with a slightly distant look in his eyes. 

John wandered into the kitchen from the bedroom, stretching his arms above his head before opening the refrigerator.

“Did you put this here?” Sherlock asked. He turned the picture over, studied it at an angle, then sniffed it. John was just walking towards him when Sherlock waved him away. “Never mind. You didn’t. It was Mrs. Hudson.”

“Let me see,” said John. He knocked away Sherlock’s flailing limbs and grabbed the picture. He smiled. “It’s sweet, you looking at me like that.” 

Sherlock rolled his eyes and went back into the kitchen. “We should bin it. That will teach her to throw out my intestines without asking.”

“Your intestines were beginning to smell,” said John. Sherlock didn’t respond. “We should dress up the tree proper, though, don’t you think?” He placed the picture back among the branches. “We can do it later.”

They forgot to do it later. They forgot to do it the next day, and they forgot to do it the day after that. Every now and then throughout the month, Sherlock would look up and say “we still need to decorate the tree,” and John would nod and say “Mrs. Hudson probably wants her picture back.” But the picture was never removed from the tree. Mrs. Hudson never asked for it back, and after Christmas, the picture found a new home on the table next to John’s side of the bed.

If Sherlock liked to look at it every now and then, John pretended not to know.


	7. Mistletoe

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day seven: Mistletoe
> 
> Prompts are from gaytectives' [Christmas OTP Challenge](http://gaytectives.tumblr.com/post/36262930585/christmas-otp-challenge) on tumblr.

Sherlock said “I love you” for the first time while standing underneath mistletoe. John would have thought this was funny if he weren’t so distracted.

They were at a crime scene, and the body had been found in a small thicket. (“Corpse in a copse,” Sherlock had said, cheerily.) The victim had found his end at the hands of a spurned lover. They had come to this conclusion due to the lipstick smeared across his mouth, mistletoe strewn over his body, and the rather gruesome hole where his heart should have been. Sherlock was certain that the heart would be found nearby, and sent John off to look for it.

“It will probably be just above eye-height, in the trunk of a tree,” he said. “Look for drips of blood on the grass. You’ll find it.”

The thicket was peaceful and quiet in the early morning sunlight. The trees grew tall and strong, despite the parasitic mistletoe that was growing rampant among their branches. John wandered aimlessly for a bit, but found that he kept getting distracted from his mission. He was following an unusual-looking bird when, completely by chance, he looked up to find a large oak tree with a red-rimmed hole in the trunk.

“You found it.”

John turned around to find Sherlock walking towards him. He glanced up at the tree.

“Don’t know if it was me so much as the bird I was following,” he said. He peered at the hole in the tree-trunk. It was deep and dark. He could just see the slimy top of the heart from where it rested inside.

Without thinking, John reached into the hole and pulled out the heart with his bare hand. It slipped free from his grasp at the last second and he fumbled, dropped it in the grass, and picked it back up again. He brushed away a dead leaf, sheepishly.

“I probably shouldn’t have touched it,” he said, wiping his bloody hand on his jacket. “I just contaminated your crime scene.” He looked up at Sherlock, who was staring back at him with a blank expression. “Um. Sherlock?”

“I love you.”

John was stunned for a moment, then smiled. He looked down at the heart, feeling suddenly flustered. He gave a soft chuckle, then glanced up at the mistletoe growing on the branch overhead and kissed Sherlock gently on the mouth.

“Let’s go bring this back to Lestrade, okay?” he asked. Sherlock nodded, and they headed back towards the crime scene.


	8. Making Snowmen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day eight: Making snowmen
> 
> Prompts are from gaytectives' [Christmas OTP Challenge](http://gaytectives.tumblr.com/post/36262930585/christmas-otp-challenge) on tumblr.

 

 

 

 

* * *

 

* * *

 


	9. Wearing Ugly Christmas Jumpers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day nine: wearing ugly Christmas jumpers
> 
> Prompts are from gaytectives' [Christmas OTP Challenge](http://gaytectives.tumblr.com/post/36262930585/christmas-otp-challenge) on tumblr.

John knew by now that Harry was mocking him. Over the years, her gifts of Christmas jumpers had been getting progressively uglier. Last year’s atrocity had been just on the verge of unwearable, though John had worn it once when he met his sister for lunch. The look on Harry’s face had made it clear: she definitely was not expecting him to go out in public dressed like that.

Sherlock had suggested this to him as John walked out the door, and when John came home, he was a bit reluctant to admit that Sherlock had been right. Sherlock lured him over to the sofa with the curl of a finger.

“You really have to take that off,” he murmured. John frowned down at him as Sherlock toyed with the hem of the jumper. "I told you she was making fun of you."

John rolled his eyes. "Yes, I had forgotten that you are more fluent than I in sarcasm."

Sherlock smirked and pulled the ends of John's shirt from his trousers with one hand. "You hold your own," he said. He slid his hand under both shirt and jumper and slid it up John's chest. John bit back a smile.

"Really?" he asked. "Ugly Christmas jumpers turn you on?"

"Depends on who's wearing them."

John wasn't sure why Sherlock kept a penknife hidden under the sofa cushion, but an hour later, the jumper was in shreds, and John found he just didn't care anymore.


	10. Baking Holiday Treats

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day ten: baking holiday treats
> 
> Prompts are from gaytectives' [Christmas OTP Challenge](http://gaytectives.tumblr.com/post/36262930585/christmas-otp-challenge) on tumblr.

There was one year (and only one year) when John decided to try his hand at baking cookies. He quickly learned that he knew nothing about baking. Thankfully, it seemed that Sherlock knew rather a lot.

“You can’t skip the honey,” he said, peering across the table at the recipe John had printed out. “If you skip the honey, you won’t have an acid to react with the sodium bicarbonate.”

“Excuse me?”

“The baking soda. The cookies won’t rise, and they’ll come out tasting bitter.”

John erased where he had scratched out the word “honey” on the recipe, then started sifting through the cupboard to find some.

Sherlock peeked at the recipe again. “There’s brown sugar behind the jar of fingernails.”

“We have brown sugar?”

“I just said. Behind the jar of fingernails.”

John glanced up at the top shelf, where both fingernails and apparently brown sugar were kept.

“It’s in the back,” said Sherlock. “You’ll need a chair to reach it. Even I can’t reach it without a chair.”

John sighed. “It’s too much of a hassle,” he said. “I’ll just substitute it with white.”

“You can’t just substitute it with white. They have different hygroscopic properties. The cookies will come out dry.”

John rolled his eyes and pulled over a chair to reach into the far recesses of the top shelf. When all of the dry ingredients were gathered, he glanced at the recipe again and opened the refrigerator.

Sherlock was pretending to be reading a book, but wasn’t pretending very convincingly. John could almost feel Sherlock’s eyes staring holes into the back of his head. He gathered a few ingredients, and shut the refrigerator, turning around to be faced with Sherlock’s disdainful frown.

“Don’t use that, what are you doing?” Sherlock asked.

John looked down at the tub of buttery spread he held in one hand. “It’s...it’s reduced fat. It’ll make healthier cookies.”

“It will make bland cookies. That spread is probably more than half water. The fat in butter is essential to the chemical process.”

John gave Sherlock a long, hard glare. Sherlock looked back down at his book.

\---

The cookies came out almost-but-not-quite the way that John wanted them. He was hesitant at first to let Sherlock try one, but Sherlock grabbed one off the cooling rack when John wasn’t looking. He looked pensive as he tasted it, but didn’t say anything, even after he finished.

John arched an eyebrow at him. “Well?” he asked.

“Well what?”

“How are they?”

Sherlock looked down at the cookies, then back up at John. “Who are you giving them to?”

“Does it matter?”

“Yes. They’ll do for Harry, but Mrs. Hudson deserves better.”

John frowned and started gathering up the dirty dishes. “Well thank you,” he said. “And also you’re a git. I'll send them to Harry.”

Sherlock grinned. He swiped another cookie from the cooling rack when John’s back was turned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I agonized a lot over whether “cookies” was an Americanism. I’m still not entirely sure. From my Googling, it appears that the word "cookies" _is_ used in the UK, especially in reference to the thick chewy cookies that I'm envisioning here. But...I'm not 100% sure how okay this is. Your mileage may vary.
> 
> Anyway, here. Have my three favorite cookie recipes:
> 
> [gingersnaps](http://allrecipes.com/recipe/grandmas-gingersnaps/detail.aspx)  
> [molasses cookies](http://allrecipes.com/recipe/molasses-cookies/detail.aspx)  
> [raspberry almond shortbread thumbprints](http://allrecipes.com/recipe/raspberry-and-almond-shortbread-thumbprints/detail.aspx)


	11. Snogging in Front of the Fireplace

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 11: Snogging on front of the fireplace
> 
> Prompts are from gaytectives' [Christmas OTP Challenge](http://gaytectives.tumblr.com/post/36262930585/christmas-otp-challenge) on tumblr.

If Mycroft is ice, then Sherlock is fire. He is brightness and intensity. He is light and life and combustion and destruction. When he is there, John’s world is illuminated, and when he is gone, there is suffocating darkness. 

When they sit in front of the fireplace and kiss until they both are dizzy, John notices the way that Sherlock’s skin seems to absorb heat. He turns warm and rosy. His hair is coal and his fingers dance like flames and he moves like he’s trying to engulf John in his blaze. In front of the glowing hearth, Sherlock’s brightness is multiplied until John is nearly blinded.

If Sherlock himself is fire, then his kisses are little breaths of smoke.

They’re here and they’re there. They’re a small taste, then an overwhelming intensity. They’re a tickle against John’s neck, and then Sherlock shifts, and John inhales, and he can feel Sherlock’s incandescence in his lungs.

There are those who say that Sherlock’s heart, like his brother’s, is ice. John knows that this is impossible.


	12. Watching a Classic Holiday Film

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day twelve: watching a classic holiday film
> 
> Prompts are from gaytectives' [Christmas OTP Challenge](http://gaytectives.tumblr.com/post/36262930585/christmas-otp-challenge) on tumblr.

They had plans to see the Royal Ballet’s production of The Nutcracker two weeks before Christmas. That was, until Sherlock was struck in the back of the head while chasing down a suspect, and was forced to stay in hospital for observation on the night of the show. He complained, of course, but John insisted that Sherlock’s health was more important.

Sherlock kept looking out the window as the sun went down, sighing loudly with every passing hour and telling John what routes they could take to get to Covent Garden in time. John tried to distract Sherlock by asking him questions about the case and pretending not to remember the finer details. Sherlock wasn’t fooled.

John left Sherlock’s side around dinnertime, saying that he was going to get takeaway, and would be right back. Sherlock sulked, but let him go. It was about fifteen minutes before the show should have started when John came back. He was carrying a large paper bag, and was dressed in the suit that he had been planning on wearing to the ballet.

Sherlock looked at him warily, but with appreciation for what the suit did for John’s figure. “What are you doing?” he asked.

John set the bag down on the edge of the hospital bed. “The show starts in fifteen minutes.”

“You’re still going?” Sherlock looked somewhere between wounded and suspicious. “You can’t possibly make it there in fifteen minutes.

“ _I’m_ not going. _We’re_ going.” John pulled a suit jacket out of the bag and tossed it to Sherlock. “Put this on,” he said. Sherlock looked puzzled, but did as John instructed. “Now move over.”

Sherlock shifted to the side of the bed. John took out a wine bottle and two glasses. He poured a glass half-full and handed it to Sherlock. Sherlock took a hesitant sip.

“This is grape juice,” he said.

John nodded. “You shouldn’t have alcohol while you’re concussed. But when you drink it out of a wine glass it feels very posh, doesn’t it?” He poured a glass for himself, then took his laptop from the bottom of the bag and settled down next to Sherlock on the bed.

“You can’t go to the ballet,” he said. “So I brought the ballet to you.” He put in a DVD of The Nutcracker and adjusted the volume. Sherlock was looking at John rather than at the computer screen. John smiled.

“It’s not the same,” said Sherlock. He countered his rudeness by shifting as close to John as possible.

John shushed him. “I know, and I’m sorry. But now there’s no danger of your snark disturbing the rest of the audience.”

“Please. I am not so uncouth as to snark over Tchaikovsky.”

“Shh,” John whispered. “It’s about to start.” Sherlock slouched lower and rested his head on John’s shoulder as the DVD began to play.


	13. Playing Festive Music

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day thirteen: Listening to/playing festive music or carolling
> 
> Prompts are from gaytectives' [Christmas OTP Challenge](http://gaytectives.tumblr.com/post/36262930585/christmas-otp-challenge) on tumblr.

John woke up just before 8:00, when his alarm was set to go off. He looked at the clock, groaned into his pillow, and got out of bed. When he was showered and dressed for work, he shuffled out of the bedroom.  Sherlock's violin could be heard coming from down the hall.  John stopped in the kitchen doorway.

Mycroft was in the sitting room, and Sherlock was playing “You’re a Mean One, Mr. Grinch.”

John snorted, and Sherlock’s lips twitched to the side in a half-grin.

“Good morning, Dr. Watson,” Mycroft drawled, turning around to look at him.

“Morning, Mycroft.”

“I was just explaining to my brother here the importance of queen and country. Surely you can talk him into doing a favour for the good of England?”

“Depends,” said John, heading back into the kitchen to start breakfast. “What does he get out of it?”

“An entertaining case and the gratitude of 50 million people.”

The violin paused. “Your case has all the intellectual stimulation of a tavern puzzle,” said Sherlock.

John shrugged to himself as he went into the refrigerator. “I’ve definitely been stumped by tavern puzzles before,” he muttered.

“I’m not at all surprised.”

John turned around to see Sherlock walking towards him, his violin still in one hand. He tugged John backwards by the hem of his jumper and kissed the side of his neck. John smiled. Sherlock was always more physically affectionate when Mycroft was around. John suspected he was showing off.

“So as I was saying,” Mycroft appeared in the doorway, frowning at Sherlock and watching as John began to fry an egg. “Your train will leave tonight. I presume you aren’t on any other cases?” The room was silent except for the plucking of a few violin strings and the sizzling of the egg. “Right. So there shouldn’t be any conflict.”

“Conflict of interest, maybe—” Sherlock muttered.

“I presume John will be joining you?”

"—by which I mean I have no interest."

"I'll go with him, Mycroft." John fixed himself a cup of tea, pointedly ignoring Sherlock's glare.

Mycroft nodded. "Fine. Let me fill you in on the details."

 

\---

Mycroft gave a long description of the case, and an even longer explanation of its significance and importance to the country. He went off on a tangent about how he was the first one to sense that something had been wrong. Sherlock was rolling his eyes and John was nodding and smiling as he put on his shoes.

"John, don't leave me here alone," Sherlock complained. John kissed him on the top of the head. "He won't leave."

"Got to go to work, love. I’ll see you when I get home, and then we can go to...wherever we’re going.”

“Leicester,” Mycroft interrupted, sounding irritated.

“Right. Leicester.” John fetched his coat from the sofa, where Sherlock had tossed it the night before. Sherlock leapt up from his chair and serenaded John with “Baby, It’s Cold Outside” on the violin.

John grinned. “Goodbye, Mycroft.” Mycroft gave a polite nod, and John kissed Sherlock goodbye before slipping out the door. When he was halfway down the stairs, he heard Sherlock switch back to the Grinch song.


	14. Ice Skating

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day fourteen: ice skating
> 
> Prompts are from gaytectives' [Christmas OTP Challenge](http://gaytectives.tumblr.com/post/36262930585/christmas-otp-challenge) on tumblr.

It was almost 3am when Lestrade called. Sherlock reached an arm out from under the covers of the bed and grabbed blindly at the nightstand to pick up his phone. John groaned and rolled away, grumbling about Sherlock’s ringtone being unnecessarily loud.

Sherlock answered the phone with an irritated “what?” Suddenly feeling the December chill with John on the other side of the bed, he tried to shift closer. John pushed him away, grumpily. "What's so interesting about that?” he asked, regretting picking up. “I told you not to call unless—" He paused, and John felt him tense. "Oh...yes. Yes, we'll come."

He hung up the phone and put an arm around John, ignoring John's half-hearted attempts to shrug him off.

"Funny how you say 'we,'" John muttered.

“The body was found in a frozen pond, under the ice. It’s recently snowed, it’s below freezing, and by the time we get there, it will be three-thirty in the morning. Will you come with me?”

John laughed into his pillow. “There must be something wrong with me, because the answer is yes.”

\---

Sherlock was right—by the time they got to the crime scene it was exactly 3:30am. A very weary-looking Lestrade met them by the edge of the pond and led them across the ice to where the body had been found.

“Careful,” he said, clutching a hot cup of coffee with both hands. “The ice is slippery.”

Sherlock truly must have been tired, because he let the comment go without making a sarcastic remark about Lestrade’s observational skills.

What had convinced Sherlock over the phone was the fact that the body had been stabbed through with a metal pole, which was sticking straight up through the ice, suggesting that it had been held in place as the pond froze around it. Sherlock examined as best he could, Googling on his phone and asking questions of Lestrade before stepping away and saying he was done.

“You can fish it out now,” he said, waving a hand dismissively. “I’ll need to see the results of the autopsy.” He motioned for John to follow him as he walked back across the ice to the edge of the pond.

“Did we really come all the way out here at three in the morning just so that you could look at the body for fifteen minutes?” John asked.

Sherlock turned to look at him, but lost his step and started to slip. He whirled his arms out like a windmill, then grabbed at John, and they both fell hard on the ice. John cringed, and Sherlock let out a small “oof.”

“You guys alright?” Lestrade called from the distance. John gave him a thumbs up. He sat upright and held a hand out to Sherlock, but Sherlock ignored it, choosing instead to lie down flat on the ice, staring up at the sky.

“You okay?” John asked.

Sherlock nodded, meeting John’s eyes briefly. John laid down next to him. The ice was cold and hard against the back of his head. He shivered.

“Do you remember the Van Buuren supernova?” Sherlock asked.

John blew out a tiny cloud of air. “Yes. What makes you bring that up?”

“Can’t think about stars without thinking of the Van Buuren supernova and...that case.”

Sherlock didn’t say the name “Moriarty,” but John heard it.

The sky was clear, allowing the stars to shine brightly overhead. They could hear Lestrade’s voice in the distance as he asked Anderson the best way to get the body out of the pond while keeping evidence intact. Their voices travelled easily over the flat expanse of ice. John was quiet for a moment, then took Sherlock’s hand and squeezed it, gently.

“I love you,” he said. Sherlock turned to him, but John kept staring up at the sky. Sherlock looked away.

“I said it first,” he said.

John smiled. “Mmm. That’s true.”

“Just wanted to make sure you were aware.”

“I’m very aware, thank you.”

Sherlock pulled away his hand and took off his own glove before removing John’s. He laced their bare fingers together.

“I want credit for it,” he said.

John laughed. “For being the first to say ‘I love you?’ Last I checked, it wasn’t actually a contest.”

“Still want credit. I’ll hold it over you at every opportunity.”

“And...”

“Which, considering your height—”

“There we are. Saw that one coming.”

John sat up on the ice as he heard footsteps approaching. He pulled Sherlock up, and they put on their gloves. Anderson rolled his eyes at them as he passed.


	15. Snowball Fight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day fifteen: snowball fight!
> 
> Prompts are from gaytectives' [Christmas OTP Challenge](http://gaytectives.tumblr.com/post/36262930585/christmas-otp-challenge) on tumblr.

John couldn't even remember why they had been fighting. One minute he was yelling about something Sherlock had done, the next Sherlock was yelling back in an attempt to defend himself. They started hurling insults, then John turned to walk away, and was slammed in the back of the head with a snowball.

He spun around angrily, and was hit again in the middle of the chest. Sherlock bent down to gather more snow, and after that, it was war. They chased each other through Regent’s Park, throwing snowballs back and forth, until Sherlock hid behind a tree and tackled John as he passed by.

After that, the snowballs were forgotten.

John suspected that Sherlock had chosen his hiding place on purpose, because they had conveniently landed behind a bush, effectively hiding them from view of passers-by. Sherlock was on top of him, and was enthusiastically sucking the melted snow from John’s neck.

“Sherlock—” John gasped. Sherlock bit at his ear. “Sherlock, I was angry with you over something, and I don’t remember what it was.”

Sherlock laughed, and John gripped him tightly around the waist and flipped them over so that Sherlock was on his back. He kissed Sherlock soundly on the mouth.

“I’m pretty sure that’s what you had in mind all along, and it’s infuriating,” he said.

Sherlock grinned. His hand slid over John’s arse and under his coat and jumper, tickling at the bare skin of his back. John squirmed away from the cold of the leather glove. They lay together for a while, kissing slowly in the snow, until Sherlock spoke.

“I’m sorry I spilled corrosive acid on your laptop.”

John froze as memories of what had led to the snowball fight came flooding back to him. He groaned.

“You idiot. How could you—why didn’t you—did you have to remind me now?”

Sherlock frowned and tried to pull John back down for another kiss, but John pulled away and sat up.

“We could have had a nice snog in the snow, maybe some fondling, possibly a fully-clothed orgasm, which I _know_ you like. But no. You had to remind me.”

Sherlock pouted. “And now snogging and fondling and orgasms are out of the question?”

“Honestly, you missed your chance. You should have let the moment happen, and reminded me when we got home.” John stood up and brushed the snow off of his clothes.

“You can’t possibly expect me to walk home in this state,” Sherlock complained, still lying on the ground. “That would be cruel.” He tried to unbutton his coat suggestively, but John was having none of it.

“You’re buying me a new laptop,” he said.

“John!”

“See you at home, Sherlock!” John started walking away. He was almost back on the footpath when he was hit on the back of the head with a snowball.


	16. Catching Cold

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 16: Catching cold from being outside so much
> 
> Prompts are from gaytectives' [Christmas OTP Challenge](http://gaytectives.tumblr.com/post/36262930585/christmas-otp-challenge) on tumblr.

John’s immune system had a terribly inconvenient sense of timing. His first cold of the winter season came while Sherlock was on a case. After one night spent jumping across rooftops, John woke up with a headache and a runny nose. He spent the next few hours sitting on the sofa surrounded by used tissues while clutching a mug of Lemsip.

The worst part was that Sherlock was ignoring him. He was so wrapped up in the case that he barely seemed to notice that John was sick at all. He had pinned papers and evidence bags to the wall and kept talking to himself and pacing back and forth across the room. John just watched him, bleary-eyed and foggy-brained, wishing that Sherlock would quiet down a bit to stop the pounding in John’s head. It was miserable.

John tossed and turned on the sofa, thinking that he should probably move back into the bedroom, but he just didn't have the energy to get up. He groaned and buried his head under the blankets. A half-hour later, he heard Sherlock say something about going to St. Bart's, then the door opened and slammed shut. John's spirits fell a bit more, but at least the flat was finally quiet.

He wasn't sure when Sherlock got home. All he knew was that when he woke up, there was a hot bowl of soup across from him on the coffee table, and Sherlock was rustling around in the kitchen. John sat up.

"Is this for me?" he asked, doubtfully.

Sherlock made a couple of notes in his notebook, then pushed away whatever he was working on, and came out of the kitchen holding a thermometer.

"Of course," he replied. He put the thermometer in John's mouth. "Now I get the next minute and a half until your temperature is taken to explain about the case." He took the full minute and a half, absently stroking a hand over John's knee as he spoke. When it was concluded that John didn't actually have a fever, just a particularly bad head cold, he handed John the bowl of soup.

“Thank you,” John murmured. He alternated between pitiful sniffles and loud slurps. Sherlock eyed him, hesitantly.

“When will you be better?” he asked.

John shrugged. “Couple days, I suppose. Why?”

“No reason.” Sherlock stood up and returned to his work in the kitchen. He sat at his microscope for a few minutes before going back into the sitting room with his laptop under his arm.

“It’s just...it’s very distracting. You being sick and all. I’m not at my top performance.”

John frowned. “I’m...sorry?”

“You look very...unwell. And I don’t like it when you look...unwell.”

John stared at him. “You seemed fine this morning. With the wall and the talking and the running off to St. Bart’s without me.”

“I went to St. Bart’s because I kept seeing you lying on the sofa looking like death warmed over.”

John took another spoonful of soup and chuckled. “So you left me here alone?”

“What was I supposed to do?”

“Most people care for their sick friends. Make them tea and toast, bring them whatever they want...”

“I made you soup.”

“You _made_ this?”

“If by ‘made’ you mean ‘purchased at a nearby grocery and heated up,’ then yes.”

John drank the last of his soup and slouched back down on the sofa. “Well it’s appreciated. But I didn’t like being left alone.”

“Apologies. I was...trying to work.” Sherlock shifted from foot to foot, awkwardly.

John raised an eyebrow. “You haven’t solved it yet,” he said.

“No.”

“You want to talk about it?”

“Yes.”

Sherlock sat on the opposite end of the sofa, not even fussing when John put his feet in Sherlock’s lap. He opened his laptop and started going on at length about unusual fingerprints and rare genetic diseases. John listened for as long as he could, but slowly began drifting off to sleep. Sherlock noticed, but kept talking to John anyway.


	17. Spending Time with Family

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day seventeen: Spending time with family
> 
> Prompts are from gaytectives' [Christmas OTP Challenge](http://gaytectives.tumblr.com/post/36262930585/christmas-otp-challenge) on tumblr.

“He’s good for you, Sherlock.” Sherlock rolled his eyes to hide the surge of warmth that flooded his chest at his brother’s words. “I suggest you keep him.”

“John is not an object that I have the option of returning.”

“You know what I mean. You can be...abrasive. Try not to be.”

Sherlock looked at Mycroft for perhaps the first time since he had stepped in the door. Mycroft’s expression, as always, was blank and unreadable. Sherlock twirled his violin bow through the air. His violin was across the room, but he was too lazy to get up.

“I act naturally with him—”

“That’s what I’m afraid of—”

“And he has shown no objection so far. He’s not a delicate flower.”

Mycroft sighed. “Yes, but he can be hurt. You, of all people, should know that.” Mycroft stood and crossed the distance between them to pull the bow from Sherlock’s hand. He placed it down on the table.

“I sincerely believe that you could be together for...a very long time. As long as you don’t mess this up.”

Sherlock crossed his arms and pursed his lips, trying to look sullen. When Mycroft sat back in the chair across from him, Sherlock murmured “thank you.” Mycroft nodded his head in acknowledgement, and Sherlock sent off a quick text to John.

_17 December_  
 _15:20_  
 _Mycroft is unbearable. When are you coming home? SH_

\---

“He’s not good for you, John.”

John looked at Harry over an overpriced cup of bitter coffee. Much like him, she wore all her emotions plainly on her face. There was a heavy crease between her eyebrows, and she was biting the inside of one lip. John sighed.

“Harry, you don’t know the first thing about our relationship.”

“I know that you’ve been mooning over him practically since you met him, then you were about to make a move and he off and dies on you. You spent the next three years walking round like a zombie, going through the motions with nothing behind your eyes, and then all of a sudden he comes back and you’re in bed together.”

“It wasn’t like that. It wasn’t that easy.”

“I don’t care. You don’t fake your death for three years and then expect that you can just go back and everything will be fine.”

John looked away, feeling guilty for partially agreeing with her. “It was a shit thing to do, but I understand why he did it. I’ve forgiven him.”

“Have you, John?”

John drained his paper cup, and got up from the table, pulling on his coat.

“I’ve got to go,” he said, not bothering to give a reason.

“Think about it,” said Harry. “How do you know he won’t do something like that again?”

“I’ll see you after Christmas.” Normally, John would give his sister a hug goodbye. This time, he clapped her on the shoulder on his way to the door. He felt his phone vibrate and took it out of his pocket.

_17 December_  
 _15:20_  
 _Mycroft is unbearable. When are you coming home? SH_

John smiled. He responded with a vague “soon” and started heading back to Baker Street.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unlike the other stories in this collection, this one is actually a two-parter, and is concluded in day 18.


	18. One Lending the Other Their Scarf to Keep Warm

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 18: One lending the other their scarf to keep warm
> 
> Prompts are from gaytectives' [Christmas OTP Challenge](http://gaytectives.tumblr.com/post/36262930585/christmas-otp-challenge) on tumblr.
> 
> Unlike the other stories in this collection, this one is actually a two-parter, and concludes the storyline from day 17.

John saw the black government car across the street from 221b, and knew instantly that Mycroft was still visiting. He didn’t go inside, deciding instead to stand on the front steps and watch the snow fall.

He felt guilty for being affected by what Harry had said. He told himself that he had forgiven Sherlock, but he knew that a part of him was still holding a grudge. It was the kind of thing that he would never be able to completely let go.

John heard footsteps coming from within the flat, and moved away from the door as Mycroft exited. They exchanged “good afternoons,” then Mycroft got in his car and left. John didn’t immediately go inside. He waited for a few minutes, then heard more footsteps. The door creaked open.

“Usually I’m the one standing outside, brooding on the front steps,” Sherlock said. He closed the door behind him.

“I’m not brooding.”

Sherlock hummed an ambiguous response and took off his scarf, looping it around John’s neck.

“What did Harry say?” he asked, after a moment.

John fingered the edge of the scarf. “Nothing. I don’t know why I listen to her; she doesn’t know anything about us.”

“You listen to her because she’s your sister.”

“Mycroft’s your brother, and you don’t listen to him.” Sherlock was quiet, and John sighed. “She said...I don’t know. She just doesn’t have a lot of confidence in...us. I guess.”

“Ah.” Sherlock exhaled a long breath, then looked up at the sky, letting the snowflakes hit his face. John glanced at him, but found he didn’t want to look Sherlock in the eye.

“For what it’s worth,” said Sherlock. “I don’t expect you to forgive me completely for...what happened. I don’t think you could.” He turned to John and brushed snow from John’s shoulder. “What I did was unforgivable. I owe you a thousand apologies.”

John shook his head. “I don’t want this to hang over us forever,” he said. “You made what you thought was the best choice, and you did it partially to save my life. It happened. It’s over now. And...you’re different now. You wouldn’t do something like that again.”

Sherlock pulled John a step closer with a tug of his scarf. “Never. I think we’re magnetized. I couldn’t leave you now if I wanted to.”

John smiled and looked up at him, admiring the melting snowflakes on Sherlock’s eyelashes.

“Let’s go inside,” he said. “The coffee at that cafe was terrible.”

Sherlock snorted. “I told you not to go to there. Their coffee tastes like rust and leather.”

“How do you know? You’ve never even stepped inside.”

“I don’t need to step inside. I can tell by the facial expressions of the people coming out. Also the colour of the stain on your shirt collar.” John looked down to find the stain. Sherlock nudged John ahead of him, and they closed the door against the falling snow.


	19. Attending a Holiday Party

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day nineteen: Throwing/attending a holiday party
> 
> Prompts are from gaytectives' [Christmas OTP Challenge](http://gaytectives.tumblr.com/post/36262930585/christmas-otp-challenge) on tumblr.

It was one of those awkward holiday parties where John really only knew the host, and no one else. There were people he had heard of—Remmy, who once won third place in the International Sniper Competition; Alice, who made a small fortune beating her entire troop at poker; and the notorious Mitchell, whose sexual exploits had become the stuff of legend—but John had never officially met any of them.

He was hesitant when Bill invited him. Between Harry’s disaster of a party the week before, and Lestrade’s less-than-thrilling get-together before that, he was a bit sick of the party thing already. But he hadn’t seen Bill in a while, and Sherlock’s interest had been piqued at the possibility of learning more about John’s life in the army, and so they ended up going to the party together.

Sherlock hovered by John's side for the whole night, sipping at a glass of wine and listening in on John's conversations without saying much. When a spread of hors d’oeuvres were placed on a table nearby, they each took a plateful and sat down together on a comfortable settee. 

“These people are more interesting than I thought they’d be," mused Sherlock, gazing around the room.

John stole a shrimp from his plate, knowing that Sherlock had no intention of finishing them all. “You just think that because you have a military kink," he said. "I saw you checking out Remmy’s arse earlier.”

Sherlock looked offended. “I did no such thing,” he said with a scowl. “I am not swayed by my baser needs, like you are.”

John snorted. “Yeah, you keep telling yourself that.”

They were just thinking of leaving when they were approached by the infamous Mitchell. He sat down in a chair by John’s side, holding a bottle of beer and sporting a huge grin.

“So you’re John Watson?” he said, holding out his hand. “I’ve heard stories about you. Bill says they call you “Three-Continents.”

John hid a cringe with a polite smile. “They used to, yeah. But that was a long time ago.”

“Not all that long, eh?” Mitchell turned to Sherlock. “And who’s this, then? Your...?” He waved a hand in the air to make up for his lack of words.

“This is Sherlock,” said John. “My....flatmate.” He felt like the whole room had heard him pause. He pursed his lips.

“Flatmate?” Mitchell asked. He extended a hand towards Sherlock with one quirked eyebrow.

Sherlock shook it vigorously. “His flatmate with whom he regularly has sex.”

To John’s relief, Mitchell laughed. “Yeah, I suspected as much. So does this mean Three-Continents Watson has settled down for good?”

John was quiet for a moment. “Yeah,” he said. “Yeah, I think I have.”

They chatted for a bit, exchanging stories both heart-warming and lewd, some a bit too wild to be believed. As usual, Sherlock didn’t say much, but he periodically shifted to move closer to John. By the time Mitchell drifted away to join another conversation, Sherlock was pressed close to John’s side. John put a hand on his knee.

“You ready for home?” he asked.

Sherlock looked at him, holding eye contact as if he were trying to read John’s mind. John smiled, and Sherlock nodded a “yes.”


	20. One Surprising the Other with an Early Gift

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day twenty: One surprising the other with an early gift
> 
> Prompts are from gaytectives' [Christmas OTP Challenge](http://gaytectives.tumblr.com/post/36262930585/christmas-otp-challenge) on tumblr.

John came home from the clinic one day to find Sherlock lounging upside-down on the sofa, reading a book. Normally, this wouldn’t cause John to look twice, but when he saw the cover of the book, he paused. 

“What’s that you’ve got?” he asked, casually.

Sherlock didn’t move from his spot. “Brand new technology,” he said in a sarcastic drawl. “It’s called a ‘book.’ It contains these things called ‘pages,’ upon which are tiny squiggles called ‘letters.’ I believe they’re trying to tell me something.”

“Very funny. Where did you get it?”

“Why do you want to know?”

“Must you be so difficult?”

Sherlock flopped down to lie flat on the sofa and looked at John over the top of his book. “You sound like my brother.”

John rolled his eyes and hung his jacket on the coat rack.

“Is that from the library?” he asked. “You haven’t been to the library since the time they kicked you out for writing in the margins of Agatha Christie novels.”

Sherlock smirked. He pulled the book closer to his chest as John came closer to him.

“It doesn’t look like a library book,” John said. His eyebrows started to knit in a frown. “Sherlock, tell me where you got that.”

Sherlock gave a heavy sigh. “If you must know...I found it shoved in the back of your sock drawer.”

“I knew it! Sherlock, that was meant to be a Christmas present! Couldn’t you wait a few more days? What were you even doing in my sock drawer?”

“I go through your socks all the time, I don’t know why you thought that drawer would be an appropriate hiding spot.”

“Why do you go through--no, don’t answer that.” John lunged forward and pulled the book from Sherlock’s grip. Sherlock gave him a pout. “It was supposed to be a temporary hiding spot until I got a chance to—”

Sherlock raised an eyebrow. “Yes?”

“I’ve said too much.” John tucked the book under his arm and went into the kitchen, contemplating both dinner and alternative hiding places.


	21. Spending the Evening in a Cafe

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day twenty-one: Spending the evening in a cafe
> 
> Prompts are from gaytectives' [Christmas OTP Challenge](http://gaytectives.tumblr.com/post/36262930585/christmas-otp-challenge) on tumblr.

The cafe was tucked away on a side-street, hidden from the usual bustle and noise of the city. It was warm and comfortable, with a huge brick fireplace and an assortment of freshly baked cakes, biscuits, and pastries. John had suggested going there as a way of winding down after the latest case, and Sherlock found that he had a craving for coffee, so he agreed. John ordered a cup of hot apple cider and an expensive Italian roast for Sherlock, and they sat down in front of the fireplace in two plush chairs.

They were both invested in the books they had brought with them when Sherlock heard the door open, and looked up. A family of four shuffled in: a mother, father, and two little girls who appeared to be about five and seven. They were all bundled up tight in thick, insulated coats, their cheeks rosy and their eyes bright. The girls were giggling together and holding hands tightly, talking over each other as they recounted stories from an afternoon of ice skating.

Sherlock looked at John, who was watching the family with a distant smile on his face. The parents stood in front of the counter and thought about what to order. The girls got excited when they saw the selection of pastries, and John laughed under his breath as they argued over which one looked the tastiest.

Sherlock turned away. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat, biting his lips against all the defensive sarcastic remarks he wanted to make. He turned a page in his book—a collection of writings by serial killers that he had read through at least five times. He suddenly couldn’t stomach the subject, and stared blankly at the page, turning his thoughts inward.

He looked back up when he saw a shadow cast over him. John was leaning forward in his chair, head tilted to see Sherlock’s face.

“What’s wrong?” he asked in a murmur.

Sherlock was angry with himself. He turned his attention back to his book and gave a scowl.

“Nothing is wrong,” he grumbled. “I’m trying to read and it’s difficult to concentrate with that high-pitched squealing in the background. It’s clear that some parents just don’t know how to control their offspring.” He turned the page of his book violently, though he hadn’t read a word on it.

John sat back in his chair for a moment, then stood, taking his empty ceramic mug from the table beside him.

“Would you like more coffee?” he asked. Sherlock shook his head without looking up, and John took his mug as well, returning both of them to the counter.

Sherlock watched John as he walked away. The older of the two girls was at the till with her father, who was encouraging her to count out the appropriate number of coins for her pastry. He apologized for the wait when John approached, but John just smiled and waved a hand in dismissal. They exchanged a few words that made the father laugh and the girl smile brightly up at them. John dropped off the mugs and Sherlock didn’t look away in time. John caught his eyes. He touched Sherlock on the shoulder before sitting back down.

Sherlock stared blankly at his book, then looked up over the top of it to glance back at the family, happily enjoying their food at a table in the corner.

“That’s not something I can give you,” he said, quietly.

John shrugged. “That’s not something I asked for.” He put his hand over Sherlock’s and squeezed, gently. “Unless you’re talking about the pastries,” he added. “I did ask for them, but they’re fresh out.” Sherlock put down his book and looked up at John with narrowed eyes. John laughed. “Besides the pastries, though, I have everything I want.” He ran his fingertips over the back of Sherlock’s hand and turned to watch the fire. It glowed against his face and made his cheeks turn pink. He looked content. Sherlock felt warm, but it wasn’t because of the fire.


	22. Making S'mores

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day twenty-two: Making s'mores
> 
> Prompts are from gaytectives' [Christmas OTP Challenge](http://gaytectives.tumblr.com/post/36262930585/christmas-otp-challenge) on tumblr.

For whatever reason, the cold weather was causing John to crave marshmallows and chocolate, and really, there was only one thing to do about that. He bought a bag of marshmallows and some inexpensive chocolate bars and went through Regent's Park on his way home so that he could snap off a couple of thin tree branches.

There was no firewood in the flat, so Sherlock turned on a Bunsen burner. He admitted that he had never made a s’more before, and John was all too happy to teach him the process, step-by-step. Sherlock listened with amusement as John over-explained and went off on a tangent about a particularly memorable holiday from his childhood. When he held up his finished product with chocolate dripping down one finger, Sherlock caught his eyes.

Apparently, making s'mores was much more distracting than John had anticipated. They soon found a way of wedging a piece of chocolate between the prongs of a fork and melting it slightly above the fire. It could then be used like a paintbrush, to draw smears and patterns on one's skin, for example.

John was testing this new writing utensil while Sherlock toasted a marshmallow. When John looked up from where his lips were pressed to the crook of Sherlock's elbow, he noticed that the marshmallow was on fire. In a fit of madness, Sherlock made the mistake of shaking it back and forth to put it out. Before John could stop him, the marshmallow flew across the room and hit the curtains.

Thankfully, they kept a fire extinguisher in the kitchen. Once the curtains were put out, John claimed he was no longer interested in toasting marshmallows. He did, however, have a few ideas left for the chocolate.


	23. Having Drinks Together

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day twenty-three: Having drinks together
> 
> Prompts are from gaytectives' [Christmas OTP Challenge](http://gaytectives.tumblr.com/post/36262930585/christmas-otp-challenge) on tumblr.

Sherlock didn’t seem overly enthusiastic when a client gave him an expensive bottle of wine as a thank-you gift. He knew it was more a display of the client’s wealth than a show of gratitude, and thus he accepted the bottle with a slight eye-roll when the client wasn’t looking. 

John seemed a bit more interested. When they were back at the flat, giddy with post-case success and too awake to go to bed, John suggested they try the wine.

“You won’t have another chance to try stuff like this,” he said. “Unless we become millionaires, we’d never be able to afford it.”

Sherlock rarely drank more than one glass of wine in a night, but he found that he enjoyed the taste of this particular vintage. It was only two glasses before he started stumbling over words, and three before his tongue loosened completely and he started rambling. In the middle of re-enacting some key scenes from a former case, he almost tripped and hit his head on the mantle, so John pulled him to the sofa to sit down. That’s when it was discovered that Sherlock was an overly-affectionate drunk.

John had only had enough wine to loosen himself up. He returned Sherlock’s sloppy kisses and allowed himself be pushed down flat on the sofa, but when Sherlock’s hands attempted to wriggle into John’s trousers, John pulled them away.

“That’s probably enough wine for now, don’t you think?” he asked. He corked the bottle with one hand and placed it out of Sherlock’s reach.

“‘S good,” mumbled Sherlock. “Not too fruity. Just...good.”

“Yes, well I always knew you had expensive taste.”

Sherlock gave a glassy-eyed grin, then lowered his head and started nuzzling and humming into John’s neck. John stroked his back, amused.

“You want to have sex with me?” Sherlock asked.

John laughed. “Um, no offense, but no. Not now, I don’t think. Maybe tomorrow.”

Sherlock hiccupped. “Mmm. Good. Tomorrow.”

They lay still for a moment, until John felt Sherlock licking at his skin, and gently pulled his face away so that it rested on his chest, instead. Sherlock closed his eyes.

“I want to live in Sussex,” he said.

John looked down at him with a frown. “We live in London now. You love London.”

“I know. Not now. Later. When we’re old. When we retire.” He sighed, his breath warming John’s skin through his shirt. “I’m gonna keep bees, and you’re gonna...watch me keep bees.”

John smiled. “Alright.” He ran his fingers through Sherlock’s hair as Sherlock drifted off to sleep. He left a wet spot of drool on John’s chest, and started snoring lightly, but John didn’t move, just watched Sherlock sleep, and held onto him a little tighter.


	24. Sneaking Around After the Other Has Fallen Asleep to Put Up Their Gift

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day twenty-four: Sneaking around after the other has fallen asleep to put up their gift
> 
> Prompts are from gaytective's [Christmas OTP Challenge](http://gaytectives.tumblr.com/post/36262930585/christmas-otp-challenge) on tumblr.

It was as if being on his own for so long had starved Sherlock of human contact. Every night when they went to bed, he would fall asleep lying on his side and would gradually shift closer to John until, by morning, their limbs were tangled together, and Sherlock was lying half on-top of John’s body. There was no way around it. Sherlock liked to cling. 

At first, he tried to deny it. He would purposefully fall asleep facing away from John in an effort to prove his independence. Eventually, after realizing that he woke up every morning clinging to John no matter how much he tried not to, he just gave in.

This is why, when John found himself awake at five in the morning on Christmas Eve, wanting to get out of bed to put out the presents, he knew that he would be unable to escape. He tried anyway.

He started out by shifting a bit to test Sherlock’s strength. Sherlock didn’t move, and didn’t try to grip tighter, so John got his hopes up. He tried to slip away to the side, but he had only moved a few centimetres before Sherlock grumbled in his sleep and wrapped one arm tighter around John’s chest. 

John sighed. He tried to pull his right leg out from between Sherlock’s, but he only got halfway there before Sherlock threw one leg back over both of John’s and tucked his heel underneath John’s calf, effectively locking them together.

John laughed to himself, and was surprised when it caused Sherlock to take a deep breath and stir.

“Why are you trying to escape my clutches?” Sherlock slurred in a sleepy mumble.

John sighed. “I want to go put out the Christmas presents. Can I do that?”

When Sherlock didn’t answer immediately, John assumed he had fallen back asleep. He tried to wiggle away, but Sherlock gripped him again.

“I didn’t say yes,” he grumbled.

“You didn’t say no, either.”

“Yes I did.”

“No you didn’t.”

Sherlock fell back asleep with his face pressed to the curve of John’s neck. John gave up trying to escape. The presents could wait until morning.


	25. Spending Christmas Morning Together

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day twenty-five: Spending Christmas morning together
> 
> Prompts are from gaytectives' [Christmas OTP Challenge](http://gaytectives.tumblr.com/post/36262930585/christmas-otp-challenge) on tumblr.

John woke on Christmas morning to a long, low rumble of thunder and the feeling of Sherlock’s mouth sucking at his collarbone. He opened his eyes as he listened to the rain come to a slow stop against the window.

“I’m pretty sure that when I fell asleep last night, I was wearing a vest,” he mumbled. Sherlock looked up at him and grinned. “How did you manage to remove it without me knowing?”

“You’re a surprisingly deep sleeper.”

John sighed and closed his eyes again, focusing on the feeling of Sherlock’s lips against his skin. “When are we opening presents?” he asked. “I’m assuming you think you’re so clever that you’ve deduced all yours?”

“What do you mean ‘think?’”

“I know you haven’t deduced _all_ your presents.”

“Is that a challenge?” Sherlock propped himself up on his elbows and looked at John with a sudden glint of energy in his eyes.

“You want to try?”

“Well I already know about the journal, since you so lovingly threatened to return it. I also saw the receipt on your dresser...a shirt...probably in navy blue, because you want to see me in that colour. You discovered recently that my dry cleaner offers gift certificates, so you got me one of those...though it won’t last very long. I don’t know what you’re hiding in the very firmly-sealed box in the freezer, but I’m certain you got it from Molly. And...oh, you checked my web history a few weeks ago, so I’m thinking you noticed the auction I was tracking for a replica 19th-century vampire hunting kit.”

“Still not sure why you wanted that.”

Sherlock grinned with triumph. “So did I miss anything?”

“Um...no.”

“Oh, well that was convincing.”

John laughed and tensed just a tiny bit. He cleared his throat and looked up at the ceiling. “Well, there was one thing I wasn’t able to get in time...”

“Must be important. Your heart rate has spiked.”

“I wanted to get you a...a ring.” John looked back down at Sherlock just in time to see the flicker of surprise in his expression. “But....well it’s something I’m kind of saving up for. And...I wasn’t sure if you would want to wear one. Or if you did, what your tastes were in jewellery.”

Sherlock was very still, his eyes slightly distant as he looked down at John.

“Of course,” he said, quickly. “Of course I want to wear one. Don’t be an idiot.”

“Well I mean, I didn’t think you’d say no to...what it means. I think we’ve both known that for a while.”

“Well aren’t you presumptuous.” Sherlock leaned down to kiss John’s neck, then pulled back up and smirked. “Calm your pulse, John. I was joking.”

“I knew that.”

“Of course you did.”

“So...yes to the ring, then?”

Sherlock looked at his own hand, turning it back and forth. “Yes. It will flatter my fingers.” John snorted and muttered something involving the word “vain,” causing Sherlock to kick him under the sheets. “‘Til probably untimely and potentially painful death do us part?” Sherlock asked.

John nodded. “Maybe even long-”

“Shut up." Sherlock clapped a hand over John's mouth before he could go any further. "If you speak one word about an afterlife, I’m not marrying you.”

John laughed and wrapped both arms around Sherlock’s waist, flipping them over as the bed sheets tangled around them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WOW SORRY THAT TOOK SO LONG. Um. But it's done now. Hope you enjoyed the massive amounts of fluff, and thanks for reading/subscribing. ♥


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